


Impression

by ladysisyphus



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen, Pining, Spycraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29231625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladysisyphus/pseuds/ladysisyphus
Summary: An unexpectedly good facsimile of Elim Garak.
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Elim Garak
Comments: 7
Kudos: 33





	Impression

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written to the prompt: "Garak is temporarily incapacitated. Bashir, darling that he is, attempts to pretend to be Garak in some important communication. He does not a bad job of it, shocking nobody more than him. Or possibly shocking nobody more than Garak."

Technically, nothing was universal: There were no things that applied across all cultures, civilizations, planets, star systems. Nothing, so far as any xenoanthropologist to date had found, transcended differences among sentient species such as to render it instantly comprehensible by any of them. A cosmos of infinite diversity contained enough variables that, like the digits of pi, if they _did_ repeat, they hadn't done so yet. Therefore, there were absolutely no aspects of behavior that could truly be mapped without translation beyond the borders of the culture that created them.

But the hand gesture Garak made came the closest Julian had ever seen.

Julian shushed him with a glare he hoped was similarly meaningful. "The rates of change in the metabolic patterns are off by an order of magnitude," he said, trying to remember to keep his cadence precise. The modulating filter put over the audio would do what it could to his pitch and vowel shape, but the rest of the imitation was his alone. Fortunately, he'd been listening to Garak talk for nearly six years, and if he didn't have a handle on that particular Cardassian idiolect by now, he never would. "The compounds are simply not bonding."

"Not ... bonding?" came the hesitant question, offered up by one Dr. Kinissa, notable only for being the assistant research scientist unlucky enough to be on duty to receive his call. Julian couldn't see her face, but he knew precisely the puzzled little wrinkle that furrowed the brow of confused Cardassians. The irony of it was, she surely thought that maintaining an audio-only connection was for _her_ privacy and security. What reason did she have to suspect any duplicity on behalf of her caller? After all, he had made it through all the security checks needed to speak with her, and only a member of the Obsidian Order could have passed with such flying colors.

However, even Garak had been forced to admit that no amount of preparation could have readied him for the conversation that needed to happen at the end of said security measures. This was why Julian was standing in the middle of his laboratory in the infirmary, performing a character that was a strange mix of his own knowledge and Garak's mannerisms. "That _is_ what I said, is it not?" Julian said, folding his arms across his chest to add to the peevishness of his tone. "The protein bonds enter the first stage, then dissolve. Even adding a hydro-plasmic medium does nothing. Thus, though it pains me to say so, I am forced to conclude that the data you have sent us are simply incorrect – which, I might add, casts your entire enterprise in a very poor light.”

Having an audience made this strange performance no easier. Sisko and Odo both loomed against various nearby walls, keeping an eye on the proceedings -- Sisko there in case something went wrong, and Odo presumably in case something went wrong _and_ that something was Garak. Garak, for his own part, sat on the side of the nearest exam table, looking for all the world ready to spring from his perch and take over at a moment's notice. Frankly, Julian would have _loved_ to have let him.

Audible tapping sounds of fingers against a screen came across the connection. "That's impossible," Kinissa said with all the dry arrogance of a scientist challenged. It was a sound Julian knew well, having heard it from his own mouth more times than he cared count. "We've replicated the cell growth on _multiple_ occasions. Perhaps your samples are contaminated."

"I _know_ how to check for contamination," snapped Julian, straightening up and squaring his shoulders. There really was an odd physicality to it, a posture that broadened and bent like a flexible reptilian spine. One could not simply speak as Garak did; one had to _be_ him, lest the full and proper weight of his disdain fall flat. "And yet, the solution still refuses to synthesize."

"I see," said Kinissa, humming thoughtfully at the end of her sentence. And then there was a shift to her voice as she spoke, something low and dangerous: "Precisely ... where did you say your cultures came from?"

The moment Kinissa’s tone turned, Julian saw Garak begin to shake his head, his blue eyes widening. The line of questioning had begun to raise her suspicions, which was the _last_ thing they wanted. Odo had promised that the signal would be appropriately disguised by some deceptive technology, made to look as though it had come from a Cardassian research station deep in Dominion-held territory. Julian knew, though, that such scramblers were only ever as good as the attention paid to them was lax. He’d pushed their luck too far, and it was all about to blow up in their faces.

But Julian knew they'd never get another chance, and they had no other plan. There were more lives at stake than he could know, people he’d never meet who had no idea their fates hung on this very moment. Thus, he shut his eyes and drew in a deep breath, and by the time he let it out again, he could _feel_ in his bones what it was to be a member of the Obsidian Order: cold and calm, the dark absence that held the space between the stars. "I didn't," Julian said, his voice clear and still as ice. He wasn't going to be afraid of her. _She_ was going to be afraid of _him_. "Why, doctor, do you imagine you might somehow _trap_ me?”

"No, I--" The tables suddenly turned, Kinissa could only sputter a denial. He could hear her breath catch, her jaw tighten. Across entire light-years, he could _feel_ her heart pound.

"Because that approach would, I believe, go _quite_ poorly for you," Julian continued, imagining himself chest-to-chest with the unseen doctor, invading her personal space. He felt his lips curl in that too-familiar threatening smirk, the one Julian had stared down so many times, when the mask slipped and he found himself looking at what Garak truly wore beneath his simple tailor’s smile. Julian had to admit, it felt better from this side of it. He knew it now for the weapon it truly was. "Why, I'm certain both Central Command _and_ the Dominion would be interested in hearing about a second-tier researcher engaging in what seems to me to be outright subterfuge, to say nothing of trying to extract information not directly related to her work. Very interested _indeed_."

"No, that’s--" Kinissa _was_ afraid now. The ones like him, they didn't make idle threats. And he wasn't making threats. No, he was reminding her that by the time threats started, it would be too late. "That wasn't what I--"

"The cultures came from Verus Tal, batch 8M, substrate 39.02, time code 0200-34." The time code was a complete fabrication on Julian's part, a bid for confusion he hoped would disrupt close scrutiny of the other information. "The samples are uncontaminated. The environment is stable. You tell me. What might possibly be left to check?”

“The – the codons! Check the codons!” He could all but see the way her hands gripped the terminal in front of her, her knuckles paling beneath the pressure as she stammered out the answer she hoped would save her. “If the codons are misaligned, the protein synthesis will fail. That could lead to the problems you’re seeing.”

The smirk on Julian’s face threatened to break into a triumphant grin, but he reeled it back in. There was no celebrating on the precipice. “Then what should the start of the sequence be?” he asked, as though disappointed she hadn’t begun telling him already.

An audibly flustered Kinissa cleared her throat. "UTT, GCA, TTR, GTR."

"Indeed," said Julian, letting his smile soften, letting the knife behind it slip back into its sheath. "Very helpful information, doctor, very helpful indeed. Cardassia thanks you for your cooperation and for your service." With a quick tap of his badge, the link dropped.

For a moment, there was silence in the infirmary. Then that stillness was broken by a soft, rhythmic sound. Julian opened his eyes to find that Odo was actually outright applauding him, slow-clapping in a manner that he must have picked up from some old Earth movie. "Well done, doctor," Odo said, his admiration sincere.

"Yes. Well." Julian raked his fingers back through his damp hair. He hadn't noticed he'd been sweating so much. Cardassians, after all, did no such thing. "There you have it, then."

Sisko nodded to the PADD where he'd been transcribing the important facts of the conversation, particularly the sequence at the end. "And those are the letters that are going to make sense to Starfleet?" he asked.

"Sense enough to their researchers, yes," Julian said. "That should give them the tools they need to develop a counteragent for the bioweapon." He stretched his arms out behind him, trying to work some of the strange tension out of his frame, to relearn the borders of his own body. How strange that he’d forgotten so quickly where he ended and Garak began.

"And that’s what matters here," Sisko said, clapping his hand on Julian's shoulder and giving him a sturdy squeeze. "You’ve done good work today, doctor." Sisko set out from the infirmary with Odo right behind him, off to deliver the message through the necessary secure channels. Julian could only trust that he had done his part to the best of his ability. It was out of his hands now.

As he watched them go, Julian was startled by a noise from behind him; for a moment, he’d forgotten he wasn’t the only one left. He turned to see Garak slip off the exam table to the floor. On Garak’s face was an expression Julian had witnessed precious few times before -- but one Julian remembered well, because every time he'd seen it, he had burned its contours into his memory. It was the expression that only happened on the rare occasion when Elim Garak was honestly, genuinely impressed.

"Now _that_ was uncanny," Garak said. What had he thought of the impersonation, beyond admiring its efficacy? Any further thoughts were as opaque to Julian as ever. Garak raised a chiding finger and aimed it in Julian’s direction. "If I get word someone's been impersonating me and charging expensive things to my accounts, I'll know precisely where to place the blame."

Julian chuckled as he let his gaze fall to the floor. "Suppose you pick up a trick or two when you spend so much time around someone," he said, his voice soft.

"Quite." Garak reached out and placed his hand on Julian's shoulder – the same place, in fact, that Sisko had, though the sensations could not have been more different. Sisko's hand was warm, genial, even paternal in its praise. But when Garak touched him...

Well, that was the problem, wasn't it? When Garak touched him, there was nothing quite like it. In fact, there was nothing quite like Garak at all. No matter how talented Julian’s imitation may have been, there was only one Elim Garak, who had by very real metrics gotten under Julian’s skin. Someday, they would both have to stand without their careful masks and face the full weight of just what that meant.

But today was not to be that day. "Hungry?" Julian asked at last, because familiar patterns were safe patterns, and vice versa.

"Starved," answered Garak with a wicked grin. He tucked his hand in the crook of Julian's elbow. "Allow me to treat myself to lunch."

"Well," Julian said, and this time the smile he was wearing was his own, "since I put it that way, I accept."


End file.
